


An Amalgam of Messes

by multipurposetoolguy



Category: Crash Pad (2017), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), This Is Where I Leave You (2014)
Genre: (Stensland), (when he was young and confused), All Adam Driver Characters Have a Huge Dick Trope, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Bisexual Character, Choking, Dawson's Creek is practically its own character, Fluff and Smut, Literally had to create the god damn crash pad tag here we go guys, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Recreational Drug Use, References to Drugs, Ridiculous Sex Metaphors, Small Penis, Smut, Unhealthy View of Bisexuality, again this isn't kylux per se but you get the picture, both of them in fact, im making a name for myself in rarepairs apparently, it snuck in there, living my best life, teeny tiny helping of angst, this is spicy but also really silly because they are both Hot Messes(TM)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 20:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12218010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multipurposetoolguy/pseuds/multipurposetoolguy
Summary: Stensland is naked. Phillip is full of himself. Stensland is also full Phillip.Tuesdays, am I right?When one human disaster collides with another it makes an even bigger human disaster, but it somehow works out for the best.





	An Amalgam of Messes

**Author's Note:**

> So I think it's safe to say that while the movie was mostly terrible, donut really rocked our collective world in crash pad, y/y? I immediately fell in love with Stensland, he's like my favorite type of character, and he's a hot fucking mess. And then I thought, you know who's ALSO a hot fuckin mess? Phillip Altman. Then I thought they oughtta bone each other. 
> 
> Enjoy!

How did he always end up naked so quickly? Phillip hasn't so much as taken off his socks before Stensland is flinging clothes around the room like a busted dryer, cock peeking out from under a faded Shania Twain t-shirt as he hops on one foot and wrenches off his only sock. For all the poetic waxing he likes to indulge in about love and old school romance, he's kind of a slut. He shrugs. Can't be helped, really. He just happens to be a sucker for holding hands _and_ holding dicks, sue him.

They’ve just tumbled into the apartment, full of Italian food and giddy from the groping session they’d had in the cab home. Phillip sits on the sofa, dress shirt unbuttoned by three buttons and the sleeves rolled to the elbows but otherwise fully clothed, his knees spread wide and begging for attention. Tearing his shirt over his head and tossing it in the general direction of the kitchen Stensland does his best sultry walk over to meet him.

Smooth and cool as a cucumber he climbs aboard, sitting astride Phillip's lap. He’s blinking coquettishly down at him, arms fully extended and resting on his broad shoulders. Phillip then violently takes an ax to the sensual mood he’d been establishing as he looks down and _giggles,_ light and giddy around a toothy grin. "Oh, oh my god, every time-"

Stensland glowers. "Are you laughing at my cock?"

"No, no I am not laughing at your cock, I just-" but he's laughing _again,_ the bastard.

He sighs. "It’s my hips, we’ve been over this, pay them no mind and leave my poor pecker alone."

Phillip puts his hands on either hip and rubs his thumbs into the skin, warm and slow. He grins again but a little more wickedly as Stensland trembles under the attention, making his (very-normal-sized-thank-you-very-fucking-much) cock bob and brush against Phillip’s jeans.

"I like it, it’s a very cute dick."

Stensland drops his head back and groans. "Fantastic, oh that's just fucking marvelous. I’ve got a _cute cock,_ why don’t I just dress it up like a clown and perform at children's parties, or go nurse some newborn bunnies to health with it-"

"Hey," Phillip grips his chin in one hand, gently but firm enough to make his lips hang open and loose. "Stop. I like your dick, can we get back to the part where you maybe do something with it?"

Stensland glares down at him even after Phillip takes his hand away, snaking back around him to palm his ass and squeeze. With a prim shake of his head and theatrically fluttered hands at his broad shoulders, he begins to roll his hips against the very sizable thing in Phillip’s pants. The friction is delicious, and the low groan that Phillip lets out is even more delectable.

Together they build a steady rhythm, the lazy no-pressure, well, _pressure_ making Stensland feel like a teenager again, the neighbor boy’s hand in his pants and a fist in his mouth to try and keep quiet. One of the few benefits of being an adult is the freedom to be as loud as you damn well want to while engaging in lewd acts on the sofa, and Stensland projects a mental high-five to Lyle for moving in with his girlfriend and leaving the place an empty receptacle for his sex-noises. Phillip’s mouth is all over him, sucking marks down his throat and chest while he pulls at Phillip’s romance-novel-splash-art hair. (He only gets his hand stuck once, stupid cracker-jack ring shaped like an alien had enticed him, and stealthily he works it free without Phillip noticing). When Phillip suddenly takes a nipple between his teeth and bites, a sound somewhere between a moan and a shriek erupts from him so loud he's sure he hears Muumuu's vacuum shut off down the hall.

They freeze, momentum stuttering to a stop. Phillip quirks an eyebrow up at him and smiles, while Stensland goes red all over.

"What? I’m a very vocal lover, women love that about me. It’s a desirable quality, and I don’t have many of those."

Phillip snorts. "I don't know about desirable, per se, but it _does_ sound like you'd be a natural yodeler, which is kind of cool."

Stensland thinks on it for a moment. "But like, sexy yodeling. A kind of erotic wailing-"

"If I kiss you right now will you stop talking about sexy yodeling? Which, by the way, is definitely not a thing."

"First of all, I can direct you to some very enthusiastic practitioners on a Swedish message board who would beg to differ on that. Secondly, nothing can stop the sexy yodeling when I get going. I’ll just yodel into you, like a big human trumpet-"

Phillip’s pinching the bridge of his nose as if he’s debating whether he wants to kiss him _at all,_ but apparently his cute peter rabbit cock won him over and he surges forward, crashing into him in a bruising kiss.

He does actually make some sort of surprised noise into Phillips mouth, closer to a squawk than a yodel, and he very nearly laughs in Phillip’s face. But that would certainly hurt his chances of something being in his butt sometime in the next half hour, and that is not a gamble he wants to risk.

Phillip hears it anyway and bites down hard on Stensland’s lower lip, punching another and decidedly more erotic sound out of him and into his mouth.

When Stensland pulls away from the kiss he’s breathing heavy, chest heaving. “You’re going to get me evicted going on like that, she’ll burst in here and think I’m being murdered. Probably. Who even knows with her, really.”

Phillip laughs and wraps both hands around to palm the soft squish of his ass. “And I will definitely get arrested, for the crime of being an accidental sexy-yodeling enabler. You know, I used to have standards.” His words have no real sting to them and Stensland knows it, snorting and wrinkling up his nose.

“Somehow I doubt that, Phillip Altman.” He snakes a hand up under Phillip’s shirt around his side and runs his fingernails across the ink that he knows sits right in the dip of his lower back, an honest to god tramp stamp. It’s an ugly caricature of Mickey Mouse wearing a suit and chewing on the stub of a fat cigar, the words ‘House of Mouse’ in Old English font underneath. It’s quite possibly the funniest thing he’s ever seen, and he genuinely pissed himself when he’d first seen it. Phillip had gone all red in the face and yell-y, insisting he'd been blackout drunk and laser removal was way too fucking expensive, and he had gladly choked him to hardness with very little prompting. The sex had been _incredible,_ and Stensland still can’t look at the cartoon mouse with a straight face to this day.

Phillip flicks his eyes up dangerously at him at the contact, and before he can decide whether to retract his hand or push the envelope Phillip is bucking up into him, the rough knit of his jeans tortuous and wonderful. He pries Stensland’s cheeks apart and presses at him with one finger, teasing, and Stensland yelps into the quiet of the apartment.

"Seems like _you’re_ the human trumpet, Stens, you can’t seem to be quiet can you?" Phillip is smirking up at him and Stensland wants to scream at him for a whole _different_ reason. "Guess I’m a better musician than I thought. Call it one of my own desirable qualities," He presses harder with the tip of his finger until it slips in to the first knuckle, by sweat and sheer sex-magic alone. "Of which I have many, obviously."

"Right now we're- Ah! N-Nearing 'speculative yet hopeful', we're not quite at 'obvious' yet, Casanova." He's aware that he's currently soda-can hard and flushed pink all down his chest, stuttering and heaving like some girl in a cheap porno, but he can't let this boastful beast get too cocky. Not before his is even out, anyway.

“Lube,” he says, before Phillip can get any more eager and try to bake a cake without greasing the pan first.

Phillip groans, obviously not wanting to untangle himself and do the stiffy-shuffle all the way to the bathroom to rummage for whatever he’s got in stock. Stensland just leans off to the right of him, clinging to his neck like a monkey in a tree as he plunges his other hand down between the couch cushions and rummages around.

“What the fuck are y-” Phillip bites the word in half when Stensland triumphantly holds up a half-full bottle of his favorite brand of lubricant, just where he’d left it. Luckily.

“What, okay, disregarding the fact that that was _in the couch,_ blueberry muffin flavor? Really?”

Stensland sits back on Phillip’s legs and looks dejected. “I love blueberries.”

Phillip blinks once, long and slow, before shaking his head and grabbing the bottle from him. He flicks open the cap and coats his fingers generously, then holds the bottle up near his face and squeezing a few drops onto Stensland’s flushed cock from way up there, just to make him laugh.

He’s not done laughing when Phillip’s finger pushes into him, not fast but not slowly either, and it cuts off into a gasp. He braces a hand on Phillip’s shoulder and strokes himself languidly with the other, catching a big whiff of the blueberry scent and sighing. In no time at all he’s panting into Phillip’s face with three fingers inside him, pumping in a steady rhythm and crooking on the odd thrust, making him jump.

Phillip keeps his hand moving and finally, blessedly unzips his fly with the other. When he pulls down the waistband of his boxers and his dick springs free, Stensland would swear up and down strapped to a polygraph machine that he could feel the wind from its weight slamming out and away from its confines. Phillip drops his head to the back of the sofa and groans at the sudden lack of pressure from his jeans, and perks up when Stensland takes it in his blueberry-slick hand and pumps him shiny.

He breathes out shakily as Stensland works him (his fingers barely meet around the fucking beautiful monster of a cock, and it never fails to make Stensland see little cartoon birds swirling around him and forget his own name every time they get acquainted) and he drizzles some more lube to spread around, just to be safe. After a minute of swirling his hand up and down Phillip’s shaft, still writhing around his fingers, he slowly pulls them out and puts both hands firmly on his hips. His fingers are drenched and glistening obscenely in the soft light of the room, and everything smells like muffins instead of sweat.

“You ready baby?” Phillip almost whispers as Stensland lifts up off his lap and he starts to line himself up.

“Ready baby,” Stensland parrots back, and with a short smirk Phillip is guiding him down, inch by inch until he’s full seated and very, _very_ full. He let’s out another outrageously loud moan, half because he’s committed to the yodeling thing and half because he’s got _a god damn tree trunk up his ass,_ and dimly he registers that his landlord has definitely turned the vacuum off. Well then. At least if he’s going to get evicted again, he’s going to go out having the best sex of his life.

They pick their rhythm back up and soon Stensland is bouncing on Phillip’s lap, awful wet slapping sounds mingling with his increasingly more desperate noises. He’s working himself in a sloppy uneven pace, panting into the crook of Phillip’s neck where his forehead rests on his shoulder.

Phillips hands are digging into the meat of his hips hard enough to speckle them with bruises, and he can tell he’s almost there. He’s nearly there himself, and he figures that while he’s got this beautiful man and his extra set of hands to himself he might as well take advantage of it. He reaches down with the hand not working himself over and pulls one of Phillip’s hands free, guiding it up to his throat. Phillip knows what to do, this isn’t their first sexy rodeo, and he wraps his hand wide around Stensland’s neck and squeezes with hard but even pressure, exactly how he likes.

He coughs, chokes on his own spit and his throat bobs painfully under Phillip’s hand and suddenly he’s spilling over his fist and all over Phillip’s dress shirt. He wraps his arms and his sticky hands around Phillip’s neck and rides him out until he’s shuddering, pulsing up inside of him like a fire hose on full blast. Phillip gives a few little grunts as he comes down from the high, sweat beading at his brow and making his hair stick. He takes away the pressure at Stensland’s throat and rubs a thumb gently over where he knows it’ll bruise later.

Phillip leans in to catch him in a heady, boneless kiss but before they touch Stensland is falling backwards, flopping onto his back sprawled out across the coffee table. An array of empty takeout boxes tumble to the floor, and his bong rolls off and away somewhere, hopefully not broken.

His chest is heaving and Phillip is huff-laughing at him, laid out like Rose Dewitt-Bukater if her opulent lounge on the Titanic were made of stained wood and beer bottles. He raises his arms up but doesn’t sit up. “Bed,” He gives him grabby-hands, too tired to feel silly for sounding like a five year old.

“Uh, we’re kind of attached at the moment, if you’ll recall.” He can tell Phillip is smiling, and he squawks when he feels broad hands pushing at his ass, scooting him further across the table as Phillip slides out of him. When he’s empty again and Phillip removes his hands Stensland isn’t ready for the momentum change, and he tumbles ass over tea kettle over the table with a curse. He’s face down on the floor and he can hear Phillip laughing at him in earnest now. The monster.

“Just leave me here to die, take good care of my VHS collection.” He mumbles mournfully into the carpet, resigned to his fate of not leaving that exact spot for at _least_ a day, until his legs worked again and he didn’t feel like the stretched out empty casing of a push-up ice lolly.

He’s not surprised when he eventually feels strong hands cup him under his arms and lift him to his feet, and he still isn’t even as Phillip hoists him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He’s taken off his shirt, probably tossed across the room wherever his own had gone, and he nuzzles a cheek against the warm plane of his back, smiling like a cat in a spot of sunlight.

“Bed it is,” Phillip rumbles beneath him, the smile still in his voice, and he makes it two feet before Stensland stops him.

“Wait wait wait. Bring Dawson's, too.”

Phillip probably rolls his eyes but he bends down anyway, scooping up the wooden chest under his arm like both it and Stensland himself weigh nothing. Considering the lay he just had, he figures it’s alright to let him show off just a little bit. He and that wonderfully talented thing in his pants have certainly earned it.

 

\--------------

 

They’re sprawled across Stensland’s ancient mattress, a sheet thrown across their legs as they watch Jack Mcphee on his tiny tv trying to explain why his relationship with Joey isn’t working out. This episode is one of Stensland’s favorites, Phillip can tell, both by the way he’s quoting the lines where he’s pillowed against his chest and by how fuzzy the picture is, the tape run thin and grainy with use. They watch mostly in silence, basking in the afterglow of their couch coitus and just lounging together.

“I cried the first time I got hard thinking of a lady,” Stensland says suddenly. Phillip cranes over to look at him, unsure if this is the set-up to some long winded joke or if his dick had somehow knocked something loose in Stensland’s head.

“That good huh? Do your orgasms feel different depending on the gender of whoever coaxed them out of you?”

Stensland snorts, ruffling the light hair on Phillip’s chest. “No, but jot that down for later experimentation.” He shifts, and Phillip can feel more than he can see that Stensland is biting his lip.

“It’s just, and I like who I am, thanks, but. I was already the skinny kid with funny hair and a funnier accent, when my family moved here, and somehow everyone already knew I preferred Dawson’s Creek over whatever boys are supposed to like. Like they could smell it on me, or something.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “It's the only time I can ever remember trying to speak to God, and I was thanking him for making me at least a little bit normal.”  

He rubs his nose hard and Phillip scowls, like he could scare the asshole kids from Stensland’s past into leaving him the fuck alone with a time-traveling glare. Somehow. Maybe his own brain was a little bit scrambled after that quite frankly superb dicking, and he thinks it’s the thought that counts.

“Kids are assholes,” He grunts, rubbing a hand over his back to try and sooth the fumbling of his obvious, dumb ass reply. In his defense he has a pretty big dick, and it takes longer than usual for the blood to come back to his brain.

Stensland continues, and he kicks himself for thinking about his dick right now.

“I thought maybe they could all tell that I also just preferred boys in general, even though I hadn’t told anyone. I was so relieved, when I found out I liked girls too, that I wasn’t gay and therefore no one would have reason to kick my teeth in or worse, tell my parents. I quickly learned that that was absolutely _not_ true _,_ they still had plenty of reasons to beat me bloody. It took me a little longer to learn that liking boys wasn’t the end of the world, as it turns out.”

Phillip doesn’t know what to say, what could possibly ease any of the painful shit he’d been put through when he needed friends most. So he says nothing, just wraps his other arm around his slim shoulders and holds him tighter, pressing his nose into his sweaty red hair. He’d been lucky, in his own experience fumbling through the hellish waters of puberty. His parents just sort of knew, when he’d come out to them with his genius phrasing of ‘not gay but not straight either’, and they didn’t care one way or the other so long as he stayed out of trouble and didn’t contract anything. Having so many siblings to worry about and fawn over kinda helped keep the the bulk of the pressure off, even if he was usually the fuck-up of the family. Which he still thought was debatable, but. Semantics. In any case he knows that Stensland is an only child, and who knows how bigoted and hyper-religious people were in Europe wherever the fuck he’s from? He’s not good with accents and he’s sure Stensland has told him before, but he can’t be bothered to remember just now. Blood rushing back from down south, all that.

“My mom is bi too, you know.” He says, after enough time has passed that he’s worried if he doesn’t say anything then he’ll look like an asshole. And he does want to help, he really does.

Stensland shifts until he’s propped up on Phillip’s chest, head cocked to the side. “Really?”

“Yep. Started hooking up with our neighbor while my dad was in the hospital, and I guess they’re a thing now?”

“Wait, your mum went off to have wonderful womanly sex while your father was _actively dying of cancer?”_ He looks like Phillip has just told him his mother was a cannibal or some shit, a mob boss mafioso. He pictures his mother with her huge sunglasses, a glass of chardonnay in one hand and an oozie in the other. He can’t contain his snort.

“My dad knew about it, he was supportive and wanted her to be happy and cared for when he was, you know. I don’t know. But it’s fine, far as I know her and Linda are happily engaging in ‘wonderful womanly sex’ on the regular, and probably sharing mimosas over knitting projects, or whatever.”

Stensland looks contemplative, which is not a look he frequently wears and thus it makes Phillip nervous. Finally he speaks, squinting down at him.

“I think I'd like to meet your mother.”

Phillip balks. “No, you don’t.” He can’t think of a more stressful situation than combining Hurricane Hillary and the rickety, ramshackle weed-and-beef-noodles Isle of Stensland. Either Stensland would trip all over his mother’s pretentious Moroccan rugs and smash the house to bits or worse, they’d get along like Phillip’s house on fire.

“Yes,” He presses a finger to the tip of Phillip’s nose, laughing when he tries to jerk away and it ends up slipping inside one nostril. “I think I do.”

He scoots down and lays his head back on Phillip’s chest before he can’t try and talk some sense into him, and they both watch as Jack shyly asks Doug out for a romantic dinner. A few minutes go by before Stensland suddenly sits bolt upright, nearly clocking Phillip under the chin on his way up.

“Oh shit,” He mutters, then louder, “Oh _shit,”_

Phillip nods, slow and serious. Stensland’s train of thought has come careening to meet his own at the station.

“I’m going to meet your mother. I’m your funny-haired funny-talking boyfriend and I’m going to _meet_ your _mother.”_

“We completely and totally do not have to, seriously-”

“Oh we’re doing this, we are doing the _fuck_ out of this.” He looks vaguely like he might throw up, which is concerning when he suddenly grabs Phillip’s face roughly between both hands and kisses him, hard and wet and with a ridiculous smacking sound as he pulls away again.

“First though, I need to smoke a _lot_ of weed.”

Stensland clambers off of him and out into the living room, still stark naked and pawing around the living room for his bong like a scrawny goblin. Phillip drops his head heavily against the squealy springs of Stensland’s mattress and closes his eyes.

It’s going to be a disaster. His mother will be fawning all over him, _oh Phillip it’s been ages since you’ve brought someone home,_ and _Phillip why aren’t you feeding this boy he looks like a pile of twigs!,_ and then she’ll get four glasses deep into a bottle of wine and probably ask about his sex life. _Again._ Stensland will probably shit his pants, Phillip is well aware of both how nervous and flighty he is and how… much his mother can be. He wasn’t exaggerating about the rug, he will almost certainly trip over his feet or gesture too wildly and break something. And the minute she turns to Stensland and starts asking him wildly specific and too-nosy questions Phillip will get protective, he always does, and it probably won’t be dark yet before voices are raised.

Despite the certainty of this particular storm brewing, his face stretches into a wide, honest grin. It will be a mess, but it’s going to be _their_ mess.

He hears a clatter and then Stensland shouting in triumph from the other room, having finally unearthed the bong from wherever he had let it roll earlier. Grin still pulling at his cheeks, he grabs a hopefully-clean t-shirt off the floor and goes out to join him.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I don't even know either. I hope you liked it?
> 
> Many big thanks to [@Winklepicker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winklepicker) for enabling me, you diamond you, and feel free to come chat with me on [tumblr!](http://multi-purpose-tool-guy.tumblr.com)


End file.
